


Sovngarde

by Schijt (Modernise)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:58:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4163076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Modernise/pseuds/Schijt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altaïr is an imperial. Malik is a dark elf. The duo who travel Skyrim. [<a href="http://mrasayf.tumblr.com/post/111301242713/mrasayf-good-job-altair-may-be-next-youll">x</a>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't even know what I'm doing anymore. ~~I don't know what/how is the write.~~  
>  Inspired by [this post](http://mrasayf.tumblr.com/post/111301242713/mrasayf-good-job-altair-may-be-next-youll).

"Give me your coldest bottle of mead. And none of that watery shit either. Black-Briar mead sounds appealing right now." He slipped 25 septims across the counter. The bartender gave him a look and passed him the drink.

"Anything else?" she asked.

Altaïr shook his head.

As he grabbed his drink and located the nearest table, he wondered what he was doing in a miserable city like Windhelm. Oh yeah, he had to restock on supplies and had a client he was supposed to meet; he had fulfilled his previous killing contract.

"You filthy grey-skin!" a loud voice interrupted his thoughts. Altaïr located the source of the commotion. A rather drunk nord appeared to be harassing a young dunmer male. A beautiful, young dunmer male. A beautiful, young dunmer male who did not seem amused, yet made his scowl seem more like a fashionable accessory.

His red eyes were narrowed and he angrily sipped his bottle of ale, eyes purposely diverted away from the abuser.

"Skyrim belongs to the nords, there's no place for you worthless rabbit ears in this province. Go back to Morrowind, ash face!" Altaïr noticed how the dunmer's hand tightened around the glass. He was curious to see how this would carry out, but wouldn't hesitate to go to the man's aid if necessary.

By then, most of the patrons in the tavern had their eyes on the two.

The drunken nord grabbed the dunmer and shook him. "Answer me, knife ears!"

Altaïr thought it would be an appropriate time for him to intervene, but apparently the boy needed no saving. "Fuck you, you idiotic _n'wah_!" he angrily shouted, headbutting the nord to escape his clutches. The drunk stumbled back, processing what had happened a few seconds later. By then, he had already made up his mind. He surged back towards the dark elf, intending on knocking him off his feet.

A poorly timed, and executed decision. The dunmer dodged and counter-attacked the move. Fists flew for minutes, successfully gaining the entire inn's attention. Hell, Altaïr only came there for mead and a warm place to stay, nothing more. This had been an interesting turn of events.

Within a while, the victor was the dunmer. He looked back at his opponent, scoffed, then walked away. Altaïr found himself intrigued. He must know more of this man. He made his way to the dunmer's table and grabbed himself a seat.

Altaïr watched as the man pretended not to notice. He could feel him watching through his peripheral vision; he was not as subtle as he thought.

Seconds soon turned to minutes. "So, are you just going to ignore me? Don't worry, I'm staying here, I'm not leaving. We can do this all night," Altaïr murmured. Not the best of icebreakers, but someone had to say something eventually.

That certainly got the man's attention. He turned his head to Altaïr. "What do you want?"

"Nothing."

"Then why do you hinder me with your presence?"

"Because I want to get to know you better."

The man remained silent. Altaïr couldn't tell if he was blushing, for his skin was too dark, but he certainly seemed flustered.

"Alright, let's start with the basics," Altaïr said. He took a sip from his mead. "What's your name?"

Following a brief moment of hesitance, "Al-Sayf." He looked away, then looked back at Altaïr again. "Malik Al-Sayf."

"It's a nice name," Altaïr said. "Malik Al-Sayf... yeah, I like it. I can get used to saying it," he acknowledged with a smirk. "But I guess it's only fair that I tell you mine. I'm Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise, Ibn-La'Ahad," Malik said, lips quirked up in what appeared to be a smile, or perhaps a smirk.

"Just call me Altaïr."

"Alright, Altaïr."

The two sat in silence for a moment. "So, what do you do for a living, Malik?"

Malik's lips quirked upwards. "You tell me first."

Altaïr chuckled. "Fair enough. I am an assassin. People pay me to kill." Malik's eyes widened and he suddenly seemed more interested in Altaïr than he had five minutes ago. Seemed like a good start, he supposed.

Malik leaned in, his face only a mere three inches away from Altaïr. There was a glint in his eyes, and Altaïr realised that he hadn't wanted to take someone this bad in a very long time. "I am a mercenary. You pay me 500 septims, and I'll fight by your side until you release me, die, or I die."

Altaïr sat back. "Oh, really?"

"Yes." The dunmer smiled, with an underlying smugness in his voice.

Altaïr gazed at him, then slid 1000 septims across the table.

"Well, then I guess you have yourself a deal."


	2. The Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Altaïr finds out who his next target is.

"I regret this decision."

"Why, _merdekh_?"

"You just proved my point."

Altaïr smirked. Learning piecemeal Dunmeri had come to use. Pestering his newly acquired companion seemed like a pretty good way to put his Dunmeri to use, especially due to the endearing nature of his anger. " _Ohn adur hulokam kili_ ," Altaïr noted. "I didn't even know that was possible."

Malik scowled. " _Os malke ohn_."

Altaïr faked a frown. "I am sad to hear that. Fine, I'll stop... _yi daelkhun_."

Malik surged forward and grabbed Altaïr by the lapels. "Stop ruining the language of my people with that godawful accent of yours!"

Altaïr used this as an excuse to stare Malik down. He could have easily (or, perhaps, not too easily after yesterday's events) pushed Malik away, but he chose not to. Thick raven hair and angry red eyes. Altaïr could barely even call it a day and he was already infatuated. Yet he remained content with his actions, which Malik seemed to reciprocate as well. Golden eyes, sandy hair, and a strange vertical scar running down the left side of the imperial's lips; nice features he had previously not noticed.

"Well, what if I want to learn this fascinating language of yours?"

Malik huffed. "You want to learn something? Fine, learn this: _Eremnesig_. It means follower. Or how about _julbir_? It means ally. That is all I am, nothing more, nothing less, so cease your honeyed words, half of which you can't even pronounce."

Altaïr's eyes widened for a split second before he forcefully removed Malik's hands from his chest. "Fine," he murmured, moving to put his cowl on. "How about I call you non-Dunmeri terms of endearment?"

Malik was only one kittenish comment away from either slapping or kissing the fool, and quite frankly, he was not sure whether he preferred either over the other.

 

* * *

 

"Yinkaza Pesareth. A prominent Argonian smuggler here in Skyrim, rumored to be hidden somewhere in Riften," the hooded figure removed a coin purse of 10000 septims from his pocket. "Yours, if he is... taken care of."

Altaïr nodded. "Word of his death shall reach your ears by the end of this week."

"I am counting on it," the figure stated. "You keep your end of the bargain, and I'll keep mine."

"You have my word." And with that, Altaïr was on his way, ready to take on a new target in exchange for coin. No matter how many times he did so, he never felt any remorse for killing. He liked the feel of foreign blood, enjoyed watching the life drain from his victim's eyes. He knew this state-of-mind was odd, but did not know or understand why.

"Do you even know where Yinkaza is?" Malik asked.

Altaïr snapped out of his thoughts. "Huh?"

Malik frowned. "I said, how do we find Yinkaza?"

"We don't," Altaïr said with a smirk, "That would imply coincidence. Instead, we search for him. Visit taverns and inns, ask about any local rumors or occurrences. Or see if the name brings up any stories or information."

The dunmer nodded.

"Fortunately, we know he is in Riften, so that narrows it down considerably."

"I see."

The duo reached the horse stables outside of the city. "I suppose it's a good thing I own two horses," Altaïr said. He chose the dark brown horse for himself, leaving Malik with the light brown horse. "You might need it. Take it."

Malik hummed in approval, but refused to say anything, yet.

"The ride may take a couple of hours. Be on the lookout for bandits, frostbite spiders, ghosts, drougr, skeletons, necromancers, bears, wolves... I'm sure you get the gist."

Malik chuckled. Altaïr hoped there would be more of that in store for him in the future. "You act like I've never been outside of a cave. I am no falmer."

"... Which you should also be on the lookout for," Altaïr remarked.

Malik rolled his eyes and smiled. "Come on, let's go. If we want to get to Riften by dusk we should leave now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- _Merdekh_ = Beauty  
>  \- _Ohn adur hulokam kili_ = You are turning red  
>  \- _Os malke ohn_ = I hate you  
>  \- _Yi daelkhun_ = My heart


	3. Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They stop to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I knew how to write.

The scenery gradually shifted from hues of greys, whites, and steel blues to oranges, yellows, and greens. Coniferous trees morphed into deciduous trees as the sky brightened, and foxes occasionally ran alongside Altaïr and Malik. The air was tinted with the heady scent of mountain flowers.

"Skyrim truly is a beautiful place," Malik noted.

"Agreed," responded Altaïr.

Ignoring Altaïr's terse response, he decided to change the topic. "How long will the trip take?" He had hoped that Altaïr wasn't insane enough to think that he could complete the entire trip in one sitting.

"Anywhere between 10 to 12 hours, depending on whether we run into any bandits, drougr, or any other type of enemy," Altaïr smiled, noticing Malik's discomfort at the prospect of non-stop riding. "But do not fret, we will stop at any inn or camp somewhere along the way. Dusk will be approaching in about 3 hours."

Malik nodded. "Very well," he replied.

 

* * *

 

They had found a nice, abandoned shack to rest at, being unable to locate an inn. The shack had a tiny garden behind it growing various herbs and mushrooms, while having a pond behind the garden teeming with salmon, river betty, histcarp, cyrodilic spadetail, silverside perch, and abecean longfin fish. The nicest part was that no slaughterfish inhabited the waters, making it safer to swim in. A tiny waterfall fed into the pond, leaving the two to wonder what was at the top. Various trees shrouded the area, and they might not have noticed it had Malik not insisted on stopping to go pick a nirnroot.

"Was that stupid nirnroot worth it?" asked Altaïr, feeling rather perturbed about the entire ordeal.

Malik narrowed his eyes. Two glowing, red slits stared back at Altaïr.

"Yes, it actually was." He walked over to tie his horse to the fence enclosing the garden. "If it wasn't for that 'stupid nirnroot'," hands quoting the words, "we wouldn't have found this place and would have been forced to keep riding or camp somewhere less pleasant."

"Alright," said Altaïr, moving to do the same. He knotted the horse's rope around the fence. Malik stood with his arms folded. "What, do you want an apology, or a thank you or something?"

He smiled. "Both would be nice."

"That's unfortunate, because you're not getting either."

The dunmer huffed and took a step back. "You're unbearable, you know that?"

" _Os shogaha_."

Malik rolled his eyes and tried not to let Altaïr's terrible Dunmeri get to him. "I'm going hunting. In the meantime, you should start a fire." He walked around the shack and located the door, and entered. The shack was quite modest in size, containing nothing but a wardrobe, desk, chair, and nightstand with various alchemy books stacked on top of it. He also noticed that there was only one bed, but chose not to let it worry him. There's a solution to every problem. He placed his knapsack on the chair and set all his weapons on the desk, with the exception of his bow and arrows, and steel dagger. Since he was hunting he required only those three. Armed with his expert mastery of restoration and destruction spells, Malik gave a quick prayer to Hircine, the Huntsman of the Daedric Princes.

"O Hircine, I lift my weapons to you. Bless them, and guide them true..."

 

* * *

 

Unlike Malik, Altaïr did not know any spells. Why he would run off to go hunting and leave Altaïr to figure out how to start a fire without any magicka was one of the many questions Altaïr wanted answered in his lifetime. It wasn't as though Altaïr was incapable of hunting, in fact it would have been more efficient had they switched jobs. Altaïr silently grumbled as he sought firewood with his woodcutter's axe in hand.

Fortunately, there appeared to be a wood chopping block nearby, a convenience Altaïr could afford.

 

* * *

 

Altaïr watched as the multi-colored Aurora Borealis lit up the sky, with stars twinkling in the background. An everlasting lightshow. They (or, technically, just Malik) managed to get a fire started with a fire spell after Altaïr acquired the firewood. Malik had returned unscathed with veal, rabbit-meat, and salmon. They discovered ingredients inside a barrel out in the garden and were able to concoct vegetable soup and salmon steak.

"Can you even do anything?" Malik asked. He had done practically everything. Altaïr was merely a big baby; a baby disguised as a young adult.

"I can fight," Altaïr said haughtily. Yet he spoke with veracity, for it was his specialty.

Malik snorted. "Silly imperial. You behave like a 9-year-old."

Altaïr angrily slurped his soup. "I am 21-years-old."

"And I am 19. That doesn't change anything." Malik helped himself to another salmon steak. "That doesn't change the fact that you cannot do anything other than fight. At least I am more well-rounded. I can fight and take care of myself. You are not as good a multi-tasker."

Altaïr raised a brow and cracked open a new bottle of mead. "You take me for a brute?"

With an inquisitive look on his face, he responded, "No...? Fine, yes. I do."

Altaïr took a swig from his mead. "Allow me to make you eat your words."

Malik set his bowl aside and stood up from the ground. "Alright. Seven minutes. Whoever catches the most fish is not the brute."

Altaïr stood up abruptly and wiped the dust off his clothes. The bowl fell off his lap and landed somewhere unimportant. He was ready for this petty challenge that most likely would not prove whether someone was more proficient than the other. But he'd do it regardless, because it was a challenge, and he was made for challenges. "Fine. I hope you enjoy failure."

 

* * *

 

It was a tie. An unfair one. Altaïr already had caught 3 salmons beforehand, making the test illegitimate. However, Malik was unwitting.

"So does that make us both brutes, or both intelligent multi-taskers?" Altaïr asked. He stared at the pile of salmon he had caught. 40, in 7 minutes. Malik's pile was identical.

Malik smirked. "I already know which one of us is the brute," he said, kneeling down and inspecting his pile. Some of those fish would make for wonderful potions. Thankfully the house also had an alchemy lab out in the garden, one that Malik would put to use. "And his name begins with an 'A'." Malik took some of the fish and walked over to the garden. He leaned down to pick some of the deathbell, torchbug thorax, and luna moth flitting about from plant to plant. "I also know that he is the same one who failed to make me eat my own words and taste defeat."

Altaïr shuffled towards the tree holding his shirt; in order to catch fish, he had to swim. He did not like getting his shirt wet. "I'd have won had I been given a couple more seconds."

"I as well."

Altaïr grumbled something about being the rightful winner while walking back to the shack. "Well, it is already midnight. I shall be going to sleep."

Malik nodded and was in the middle of brewing a damage health potion when he realised what that would mean...

He dashed back into the shack. "That bed is mine!"

Altaïr was already on the bed. "Too late," he grinned. Malik pursed his lips as he knew what that implied. They either share the bed or he sleep on the floor. He was strongly considering the latter until he looked down at the ground. It was filthy: covered in dirt, dust, food, and, perhaps, blood. He looked down at the floor, then back up at Altaïr, then back at the floor, and took a step forward.

He crawled onto the bed and was even more disappointed to find that there was barely any room for him. To compensate for that he had to sleep against Altaïr.

Altaïr took that as an opportunity to study Malik's face. He had typical dunmer features like red eyes, pointy ears, and dark skin, but his face wasn't as elongated and narrow or rough as that of typical dark elves. He looked surprisingly human for an elf.

"Quit doing that," Malik murmured.

"My apologies," Altaïr replied. He wasn't really sorry. "Yet I couldn't help but notice that your appearance is rather distinct."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean that you have rather human-like qualities. Physically speaking, of course."

Malik looked up at Altaïr. "I am dunmer, but I also have redguard and bosmer blood."

Altaïr smiled. "That's interesting. I have a bit of redguard in me too."

Malik muttered an acknowledgement and yawned.

"Alright, catch up on your sleep. We shall leave when Kynareth chooses to shine her light. We shall leave at 5."

Malik didn't bother responding and closed his eyes. Altaïr's warmth was less of a necessity and more of a commodity at that point, but he was too intoxicated by sleep to realise it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Os shogaha_ = I know
> 
> The shack-camp looks something like an amalgamation of [these three (3) pictures](http://imgur.com/a/K2NXn).


End file.
